My Son One and Only
by Hopeakaarme
Summary: Severus's wife is dead. So's his son. True? It doesn't seem so when Longbottom is brought to the Infirmary, and Albus has some confessions to make. Severus's son is more important to him than his spying. Discontinued.
1. Prologue: One Birth, Two Funerals

Disclaimer: Nope, I only own the plot. And any OCs, of course.

A/N: Eleonora1: I'm going to start a new fic.

Crowd: Tell us something new.

E1: It's going to have some angst, drama, and serious illnesses...

C: Big surprise.

E1: Remus/Severus...

C: Really.

E1: And something totally new that nobody (not me, at least) has ever seen anywhere.

C: ::yawn::

E1: No, just kidding. In fact, I'm going to write a nice, fluffy, humorous novel-length Ron/Hermione that has been done a thousand times and that has absolutely no angst in it.

C: ::gasp:: Who are you, and what have you done with the real Eleonora?

E1: No, seriously speaking, this is just what I said at first - except for the stuff about new things. I'm sure this has all been seen before, you see. I mean, there must be about a billion fics where Neville's Severus's son, but I'd just like to try it myself instead of just reading it everywhere. Yeah, Neville. Not Harry -- that would have been a shocking surprise!

...Yeah, and that was sarcasm.

* * *

My Son One and Only 

Prologue

One Birth, Two Funerals

* * *

A tall, dark-haired man wrapped in a black robe and a cloak stood in front of an open grave. Looking down at it, he saw a lonely, dark coffin on the bottom of it. 

Then somebody whispered a spell and the grave started to fill itself. Turning around, the man walked away, his motions stiff and almost robot-like. Not that he'd known what a robot was, though.

"Severus?" asked a soft voice, a gentle hand being placed onto his shoulder. "Severus, are you all right?"

The man turned slowly towards the speaker, and then sighed. "Yes, I am, Alice," he said quietly, nodding shortly at one of the very few people he ever called by their given name. "I'm fine." At her doubtful glance, he then snapped irritably, "How do you think I could be all right? Celine's dead! She's dead, and she'll never come back! How exactly do you think I could ever be all right again?"

"Look, Severus, I'm really sorry for all that's happened to you lately," Alice Longbottom said quietly, not taken aback by his sudden burst. She was too used to Severus's tricks. "I know how much you loved her. But at least try to remember that she gave up her life for a reason, okay?"

"Of course I'll remember," he replied, sighing. Letting his cloak slide a bit open, he then added softly, "How could I forget, when she left me such an angel?" On his arm, protected from the harsh wind by his thick cloak, the witch saw a tiny infant with a tuft of dark, fine hair on top of his head.

"True," she said, smiling sadly. "Nicholas is truly a wonderful creature. I hope my baby will be as beautiful," she added then, placing a hand over her full-term belly.

"Of course it will, dear," Frank said, wrapping his arms around his wife's shoulders from behind. "It does, after all, have just as wonderful a mother." With that, he also gave a slight smile at the little baby on the Potions Master's arms. "I'm sorry, Severus," he added quietly. "I know you loved Celine very much."

The Slytherin nodded again shortly. "I've never loved anybody more," he said quietly. With a glance down at little Nicholas, he added softly, "Well, nobody but this little one here."

"You must be kidding," said then a harsh voice behind them. "Severus Snape -- _cooing_ at a child? Truly, the world must have come to its end. The greasy git cannot be actually capable of human emotions!"

They all turned to see James Potter standing there, his eyes mocking the widower. The bespectacled boy's wife soon came close, however, placing a hand on his arm.

"James, you'll apologize right now," she hissed through her teeth, her arms crossed between her breasts and her big belly. "We're at her wife's _funeral_ -- you should have at least some respect!"

"Yeah, we are in his wife's funeral," spat the Gryffindor. "I'm here because you were friends with Celine, not because I was friends with Snivellius." With this, he sent a glare at the mentioned man's direction.

"Don't bother," Severus said curtly as Lily again prepared to shout at her husband. "If I actually paid attention to anything what he says, I would have gone mad a long time ago."

"You mean there's still somewhere to go with you?" taunted James him. "Well, _now_ you've truly surprised me, Snivellius. I'd thought there was no sinking lower from where you are!"

Ignoring both his insults and the other people's angry comments at James, Severus turned around, glancing again down at his little child. The baby had stuck one finger into his tiny mouth, sucking hungrily at it. With a sad smile, he shook his head. Then he concentrated his powers and whispered a couple of words that activated the Disapparating spell.

A moment of time, a little popping sound, and a whirl of air later, he and his son were both away.

* * *

As soon as he got back to home with Nicholas, Severus sank to a nearby couch with a deep sigh. Nicholas didn't even bother to open his eyes, continuing his sleep. With a glance at his Muggle watch -- which he'd got solely for this purpose -- he knew that it would be about half an hour before the boy would again wake to be fed. So, he had half an hour of free time. 

He had half an hour of time -- but for what, he didn't exactly know.

It had been so easy before. Celine'd always been there, laughing, chattering, singing -- well, even yelling at him sometimes, but mostly she'd been happy. She had brought life to this dark, quiet, empty house, filled it with her light and joy. Now she was away, however, and all her blessings had gone with her.

Well, not all, as he was forced to think as he looked down at the infant on his hands. Getting slowly to his feet, he then walked to the nursery -- which was charmed so that he would always hear even the tiniest sound from there, no matter where he was -- and laid his little baby boy down to his cradle. As Nicholas soon curled up under the covers he tucked him in with, instead of leaving he just sat there next to the cradle, looking down at his little son.

This was Celine's gift to him, the last thing she'd ever given to him. He was definitely going to hold onto this little thing, his little song, hold onto the last blessing Celine had brought to his dark, lonely life. No, he would never blame this child for Celine's death. As much as he'd loved his wife, he knew that this baby was innocent of her death. He would not blame him, because if he'd done that, Celine's sacrifice would have been for naught.

He could still remember her vividly. When he closed his eyes tightly, he could almost see her in front of himself. Her flow of her brown, curly hair as she flung it over her shoulder, the pretty smile on her face, the warm brown eyes, the sound of her laughter. Especially well he remembered one moment when he'd seen Celine on her most beautiful.

It had been the beginning of that summer, and they'd been in the garden of their little cottage. Suddenly he'd heard how Celine gasped. Flinging around, he'd been surprised to find her wife smiling warmly despite the startled gasp.

"The baby," Celine'd said, one hand placed over her rounded tummy. "It kicked." The breeze had been throwing her hair to one side, making the flower in her hair shiver a bit. Her thin maternity robe had clung to her on the wind's side and flown wide on the other side. Her engagement and wedding ring had both shone brightly in her left hand, and her eyes had been twinkling with joy. That one time, in the middle of the early flowers and bright rays of sun, she'd been a picture of absolute beauty in the eyes of her husband.

...Not that she hadn't been that even at other times, of course. At all times, to be honest.

Yes, Severus had loved his wife, loved her dearly indeed. Nothing could have been more precious to him than his beautiful little Ravenclaw. His dear wife, his image of humanly perfection who'd borne him a beautiful, perfect son.

A son who would grow up without his mother, now.

He did not want to believe it true, but he could not deny the obvious truth. Celine was gone, she was gone and he could not do a thing about it. The only thing left of her was Nicholas, his -- no, _their_ little Nicholas. And he would care for him as well as he could, no matter what the cost.

No matter what the cost.

* * *

"Nicholas?" Severus called out well before entering the nursery. "Nicholas?" He was a tad worried. His son should have waked up to be fed some time before, but he hadn't done that. Of course Severus did not see this as a reason to panic, it wasn't like Nicholas had ever slept and woke within the expected minute -- the expected hour, rather. Even though the boy was only two weeks old, he'd already got to know his habits. 

However, when he came to the nursery door, he got more than just a bit worried. He panicked, pure and simple. He hadn't heard Nicholas's breath, but that hadn't been a reason to worry -- the boy was a quiet sleeper, and he did check up on him every now and then even while he just slept. However, now that he was inside, his usual hearing and the spell combined should have made him able to hear his son's breathing.

However, he did not hear that.

Hurrying to the cradle, the worst possibilities already playing around in his mind, he reached out a slightly trembling hand to the cradle. Anything could have happened. Voldemort might have doubted his loyalties and sent somebody to take Nicholas from him. Or Nicholas could be --

Then he took a step forward, finally able to see inside the cradle.

The baby bottle fell from his other hand, shattering to tiny pieces all over the floor, as he froze in shock. There was indeed a baby lying peacefully in the little cradle, yes.

But no, the baby was not breathing.

* * *

Next chapter: No Hope Ahead 

Present time. Death Eaters attack to the Diagon Alley. This attack, or rather one of its consequences, forces Severus to face again the memories of the deaths of his wife and son.


	2. 1 No Hope Ahead

Disclaimer: I own nothing but Celine and the plot.

A/N: I've always imagined Severus having experience in medical magic. Just like my Lucius is always a Potions Master, or my Sirius was always an Auror when he was young. It's just something I can't let go of, and besides, it fits this story.

* * *

My Son One and Only 

Chapter 1

No Hope Ahead

* * *

"Neville! Neville, come here!" shouted a sharp female voice. "Do you hear? We're in hurry!" 

"Yes, Gran," mumbled the boy, wiping sweat off his forehead. The day was just slightly warm, but he'd been feeling almost hot for quite some time by now. He truly hoped he wouldn't get sick; that would be a really horrible way to spend his summer holiday.

Neville hurried after his Gran, not paying any attention to the people around him. Diagon Alley was full of people, like it always was in summer days. The noise and chatter were making his headache even worse than it was already.

Neville didn't know what exactly was wrong with him. Sure, he'd been sick before, but he'd never felt like this. It was like he had a fever, and yet it was not so. A little voice inside his mind kept telling him that he should tell his Gran, but he did not want to worry her. She had enough worries as it was, what with the War now going on and Voldemort's return out in the open.

Being too deeply distracted by his headache, he didn't notice the black-clad men before it was too late. As of why it was too late, they suddenly drew their wands and started to throw curses at random people. Those of the innocent shoppers who did not panic at that began to scream simultaneously as one of the men conjured a threatening figure into the air.

A huge, green skull with a snake.

"Gran!" exclaimed Neville, grasping the old witch's hand. "Gran, we have to get out of here!"

However, his grandmother didn't seem to hear. Instead, she raised her wand, sending the Wizarding emergency signal to the air. This, of course, didn't fit the Death Eaters very well.

"That was a mistake, you old cow!" one of them shouted, aiming a curse at her. Freezing, Neville started to drag her away, trying to hurry up the best he could. As curses began to fly over him, however, it was no more safe to move. He simply pretended to fall down to the ground next to his unconscious grandmother.

Then, however, he heard somebody casting a shielding charm. Carefully raising his eyes, he saw Aurors appearing to the crowded Alley. Seemingly his Gran's signal had reached them immediately. Relief raised its head inside him as he tried to ignore his headache and concentrate on following the battle that was now going on.

Slowly the Death Eaters were forced to retreat. One by one, the black-clad men disappeared with various 'pop's. As Neville watched this, a couple of Aurors came nearer. One of them, a young witch, knelt down next to his Grandma, while the others surrounded him.

"This boy must still be a Hogwarts student," one of the Aurors said to another. "Good, we can send him to the Infirmary, then. There are only so many doctors at St. Mungo's who can help these people."

"No!" exclaimed Neville hastily. "What about my Gran? You must help her, too!"

However, the Auror who'd knelt down next to his grandmother raised her eyes to him, a sad expression on her face. "I'm afraid there's little we can do for her, boy," she said quietly. "She's gone."

Neville tried to say no, to deny those horrible words, but not a sound would come from his mouth. Instead, he felt the world spinning around himself. Somebody shouted something, but he couldn't make out the words. Everything was just spinning faster, and then the light got dimmer, and then --

Then he knew nothing more.

* * *

Severus stared quietly at the flickering flames in the fireplace. He was in a thoughtful mood, like he always was around this time of the year. 

Almost exactly sixteen years earlier, he had buried her wife. About a week later, his son had died as well, living no more than two weeks. And, like he often did, Severus now imagined what his life could have been like if Nicholas hadn't died like he had -- if his son was still alive.

Well, at the very least he wouldn't be sitting there, in that case. They'd be somewhere else -- at the Snape Manor, most probably, spending their summer together somewhere out of the ancient castle. Not at the tiny cottage, no; even if Nicholas hadn't died, Severus would have sold it at some point or another. It had contained too painful memories of Celine, of their time together. No, Nicholas and he would have been at the Manor. Nicholas would have been flying, maybe -- he would have surely been as good a flier as his mother -- or maybe they'd tried brewing potions together, if the boy possessed a talent for that.

This way or the other, at least they'd spent time together. Severus figured that he'd been a caring father, if maybe a strict one. He wouldn't have spoiled his son, nor would he have tormented him, like his own father had done to him. Nicholas would have had a safe childhood, and happy, for anything it would have depended on him. And it would have -- if Nicholas had lived.

"Severus?" called a voice, startling him from his thoughts. As he concentrated on the flames again, he saw Albus's face in them.

"What is it, Albus?" he asked quietly. "Has something happened, maybe?"

"Yes, something has indeed happened," the ancient wizard sighed, casting his eyes down. "Death Eaters have just attacked Diagon Alley, and Neville Longbottom was brought here. His grandmother was killed. The boy himself was not injured, but he's got some kind of an illness Poppy is having trouble identifying."

Severus nodded slowly. Memories, memories everywhere. Alice and Frank had been their closest friends, his and Celine's. After -- well, after all that had happened, he'd retreated from his old friends. He hadn't kept contact because they'd reminded him too much of Celine, because little Neville had reminded him too much of Nicholas. And then Frank and Alice had been attacked, and Neville had been given to his grandmother's care. When the boy had then come to school, Severus had started to torment him mercilessly -- not because he'd hated the boy, no, but because every time he looked at his former friends' son he couldn't help thinking that it could have been Nicholas sitting there, it could have been _his_ son who'd got to live past the few first weeks of life. And because he wanted to be the Longbottom's son to be ready to face Death Eaters, if need be, and knew no other way than frightening him into it.

"I will come to the Infirmary immediately," he said quietly. He might be always ready to torment the boy, but he most certainly didn't want Neville dead. He knew what it was like to lose a son, after all.

Albus nodded wordlessly. Then he said, "Severus... I understand this is a difficult time to you. And I really do appreciate that you're ready to help." Severus didn't say anything.

"Now, where is the boy?" asked a cool voice from the doorway. Poppy Pomfrey, Minerva McGonagall, and Pomona Sprout all raised their eyes from the sick boy lying on one of the hospital beds. When they then stepped to the side, Severus walked to look at him.

"Does he have a fever?" the Potions Master demanded from Pomfrey. "Any other physical signs?"

"Yes, he's having a rather high temperature," the mediwitch admitted. "Other than that, I can feel some traces of magic all over him -- it must be a magical disease of some kind, I'm afraid."

"You are right," Severus said after a quick examination. "I do not think it is --"

"No, it's not that," Pomfrey said quickly. "I was thinking more along the lines of --"

"No, no way, the balance of magic is too set, but what about --"

This went on for quite some time. Minerva and Pomona watched them in a quiet fascination. They hadn't before even realized just how much medical magic Severus knew. Seemingly very much.

"Have you checked the --" Severus said, not even finishing sentence before Pomfrey nodded.

"Yes, and it shows rather high levels. I'm afraid that --"

"Hey!" interrupted Severus then. "Have you noticed this? The natural magic --"

Poppy nodded and then frowned. "What can it be? I've never --"

"I'm afraid I have indeed seen this before," the Potions Master muttered gloomily. "The boy has the Internal Magic Plague."

This made the witches' all gasp. "What is it?" asked Pomona quietly, and at the same time Minerva demanded, "What can we do for him?"

Severus shook his head slowly. "Sorry, but there's nothing to be done," he said harshly. "There indeed is a cure to this illness, but it would not help the boy." At the witches' questioning gazes, he said, "It would require a close blood relative to brew -- and with his parents clearly incapable of that and his grandmother dead, nobody can do anything for him."

"But there must be _some_ way!" Minerva said. "Surely there's at least something to be done..."

"No, Minerva," the Potions Master replied. "I know every magical cure in existence. And to this illness, there's only one -- and it's beyond our reach." As an afterthought, he added, "Well, at least there will be no more exploding cauldrons in my class, with Longbottom gone." He hated this, hated saying those words, because all this made him feel like he was losing Nicholas again. But he had an image to uphold.

"How _can_ you say something like that?" shrieked Pomona. "You -- you are the most unfeeling bastard I've ever seen! Don't you even have a _heart_?"

Severus fixed her a cold glare. "I do in fact possess the organ in question, Pomona," he replied. "However, whatever emotion lived there died along with my son sixteen years ago." And with that, he turned around and left the Infirmary, leaving the three witches staring after himself.

Dumbledore had, of course, followed this conversation from the other side of the Infirmary door. As he saw Severus brushing past him, the pale face set to its usual sneer, the ancient wizard saw his opportunity.

"Severus," he said quietly, and the younger man glanced towards him, his face a blank mask. Then, he turned away again, seemingly not interested in hearing whatever it was the Headmaster had to say. "Severus," Albus said again, "you maybe should know that... Neville is Nicholas."

Now, the Potions Master sprung around in a flash of a moment. Before Albus could do anything, he'd clutched the front of the old man's robes and brought his face mere inches from the Headmaster's, hissing, "_What_ exactly did you say?"

Forcing himself to stay calm in front of this sudden wrath, the old wizard repeated calmly, "Neville is Nicholas, Severus. He's your son."

"That's not true," was the sharp reply he got. "That can't be true, since there's no Nicholas anymore. Nicholas is dead -- he's been that for a long time, like you should very well know."

"No, he isn't. The baby you buried next to your wife was in fact the Longbottoms' stillborn baby, with some Glamouring Charms to keep the truth from you."

Sneering, Severus dropped him to the floor at last. "So you're suggesting that the Longbottoms kidnapped my son and raised him as their own, eh?" he snapped nastily, his voice full of bitterness.

"Raised as their own, that much I do say," the Headmaster replied. "But they did not kidnap Nicholas. Instead, I did."

At this, the Potions Master froze completely. He just stared at the old wizard, his mouth hanging open. "You're kidding," he finally whispered. "You must be kidding."

"I hope I was," Albus replied sadly. "Alas, I'm not. That night, almost sixteen years ago, I was the one who broke into your house - and kidnapped your son."

"But why, Albus? Tell me at least _why_?" the Slytherin demanded, a pained expression on his face. "Why on Earth did you take Nicholas from me - the only thing I had remaining of Celine?"

"I thought it'd be safer to him," the Headmaster replied quietly. "You were a Death Eater, and a spy, no less. If Voldemort had found out about your betrayal, he wouldn't have taken it lightly. And that would have been the end of your son."

"He didn't find out, and hasn't done yet," Severus replied nastily. "Instead, my son had to grow up with that horrible woman, growing to hate me and be scared of me - even more so than Gryffindors usually!"

"But I couldn't know," Albus said, sighing. "You seemed to be taking Celine's death so badly, I didn't know whether you were capable of taking care of a newborn. And the Longbottom's baby had just been born still. When I offered them a baby to look after, they accepted him gladly, not even bothering to ask who were his real parents -- or where I took own baby's corpse to, as long as I promised he'd get a proper funeral."

"And when they found out that Nicholas was 'found dead' the very same day they trusted you with their own child's corpse, they didn't suspect anything?" snapped the younger man. "Or were they also adamant to keep my child _safe_ from me?"

"Not safe from you, but from Lord Voldemort," Dumbledore replied. "Besides, I'd placed a few Glamouring Charms on the boy - not permanent ones, but some that would last for long enough that he'd not be recognized as Nicholas anymore."

"So you had planned it all," Severus growled through clenched teeth. "You'd thoroughly planned how to make sure that I would never get my son back!"

"Now's your opportunity," said the old wizard evenly.

With a glare to his direction, Severus stalked away.

* * *

A/N: Uh-oh... The nerve Albus has...

Next chapter: Severus's thoughts are not easy ones. Nor is his situation.


	3. 2 Deep in Thought

Disclaimer: I own very little.

A/N: I don't really know how I managed with Severus here... ::shrug:: Well, he's not totally OOC, but I don't think he's being exactly IC, either. That's what writing fics at 3 AM does to you.

* * *

My Son One and Only 

Chapter 2

Deep in Thought

* * *

When Severus entered his quarters, he closed the door with a loud bang. Then he sighed deep, falling to the nearest armchair, leaning his head to his hand. 

Neville was Nicholas. Nicholas was Neville.

It couldn't be. It just couldn't. But why would have Albus lied to him? He'd get no benefit from lying -- rather to the opposite, he only got Severus mad at himself. He had to be telling the truth. It would have been so like the old coot, keeping something like this in secret for years in fear of angering him, and then only revealing it when he absolutely must to save somebody's life. Bloody Gryffindor Headmaster.

The truth, however, was very hard to believe. Not was only his son alive, alive even though he'd mourned him for sixteen years -- no, that was not enough, his son hated him. Feared him, was terrified of him.

And it was his own fault.

He had treated Longbottom badly, he knew that. Sure, he was harsh to all Gryffindors -- he had to, it wouldn't do to let the Dark Lord suspect his loyalty even the tiniest bit -- but he'd always been especially hard on Longbottom. From the first lesson on the boy's first year he'd seen that he was afraid to death of him -- and Severus had done everything in his might not only to maintain but to grow that fear. Not because he'd found it fun to torment his former friends' son -- well, at least not only because of that -- but because he'd had Reasons. And when Severus Snape had Reasons, he could not be proved wrong.

The one Reason he admitted to himself had been simple: Death Eaters. Neville's parents had been great Aurors, great enough to be tormented to insanity by the Dark Lord's followers, their little baby boy witnessing the whole horrible ordeal. He'd wanted to keep Neville safe from the same fate, feeling it his duty to do that, as Frank and Alice had always been there for him until he'd separated himself from everyone. And as the boy seemed to be absolutely incompetent to do any magic properly, he had to be ready to defend himself. To this, Severus had tried to frighten him, trying to push him so far that he'd finally snap back. This far, he hadn't managed.

Another Reason was just that, the boy's incompetence. Two such powerful and intelligent people as Alice and Frank could not have produced such a fool of a son. Severus suspected that the boy might actually be more intelligent than he let out -- after all, he always passed his exams, now didn't he? Even his OWLs, which was a wonder. Maybe he was afraid of the attention he'd got if he'd really been smart? A life with his grandmother could very well have done that. So, Severus just pushed him further and further -- if there were any skills the boy was hiding, he would at last show them just to make the taunting stop.

This far, neither of his two Reasons had led to anything. Whenever he thought that a sparkle of rebellion might be hiding in the boy's dark eyes, he barked his insults double as much, hoping to finally make the boy flare up. This, however, always made that sparkle die and the boy cower once again. What really kept him continuing the boy's tormenting -- other than keeping up his facade, of course -- was the last of the Reasons, the one he didn't ever dare to even consciously think about.

Of course, this Reason was Nicholas. Neville had been born the day after Nicholas had died. He was darkhaired, like Nicholas had been, and not too tanned, either -- both Severus and Celine had got pale skin, so their son would have had that, too. Of course Severus's son wouldn't have been so plump, but that hardly mattered. What mattered was that Neville was alive, alive while Severus's son was dead, and Neville had even been given life the very day that Nicholas had lost his. Every time Severus's eyes fell to this boy, he couldn't help but think that it was Nicholas sitting in front of him, in his class, that Nicholas was still alive and with him, and that his own life was actually worth something. But then Neville did something wrong or shivered in fear, and he remembered again that Nicholas was dead, and he had to get that pain out of himself and so he insulted Neville -- or Potter, for the same reasons. Potter also resembled the Nicholas in his imagination, even if not as much. It was so easy, directing his feelings to other people, taking out all his frustration and anger and pain on innocent and not-so-innocent students. Albus didn't like it, but Severus didn't stop. It was so easy to reason, even -- it was unfair that Severus had lost his son, and it was unfair that Neville and Potter both got to live while Nicholas had died, that all those other children still lived. It was only fair that there was some pain in their lives, wasn't it?

But now, Severus had made Neville fear and hate himself. And now Albus told that Neville was not Neville at all, but Nicholas. His son, the one he always thought of, the one he dreamed to have and live with and treat fairly and kindly. He'd used years tormenting his first and only son.

He was no better than his own father had been.

That thought stung. Severus's father had been the worst kind of a bastard ever stained the Earth -- a wife-beater, a child-abuser, and violent to everybody else as well. Young Severus and his mother had always lived scared of Mr. Snape, the one person who was supposed to love them and protect them. A husband. A father. When he'd finally died when Severus was sixteen, the teen had vowed never to be like him.

He hadn't beaten his wife, that was true. He'd never raised a finger against Celine in anything else but a gentle touch, never. He'd always treated his wife lovingly and gently, and Celine had returned the favour, and they'd been so happy, and Severus had almost forgotten his father. And when Celine had died, giving him little Nicholas, he had treated his son with all love and gentleness he'd previously shown to his wife.

But in the end, he'd been no better. His son was afraid, afraid of his father, not maybe in the way Severus had been but at least just as badly. Maybe even worse. Bruises heal and broken bones can be mended, but it's hard to put plaster on one's heart and soul after hurtful words have hit their goal.

Now that he thought of it, Neville did resemble himself. Albus had said the Glamouring Charms had worn out a long time ago, hadn't he? The boy he'd seen in the Infirmary hadn't been as plump as the boy he'd got accustomed to in the classroom -- thanks to the illness, no doubt. The boy's eyes were dark brown instead of black, true, but so had been his until he turned seventeen. It ran in the family, he'd been told. Many Wizarding families had some features that showed up in every generation, especially in the males. All Weasleys had red hair and freckles, for example, and every Potter had the same messy hair as the previous one. Every Malfoy had blond hair and silvery eyes -- it had something to do with the Veela blood in their family, the rumours told -- and every Snape's eyes turned black around the time they turned seventeen.

And the hair. That hair, black like his, attempting to curl in the ends like Celine's, was one of the things that had always pained him most in the boy. It was just like he'd thought that Nicholas's hair would have been, if he'd only got to live. Seemingly he had been right about that one, at least.

He sighed deep, then stood up. There was probably no way he could ever get his son back, but he'd be damned if he let Nicholas die again. Nobody would know that he'd brewed the potion -- well, nobody but Albus, anyway. On that note, he had to get revenge on the old fool. His life had been completely spoiled, and who was behind it? The only man he'd always trusted with it! Anyway, nobody would find out that his potion had saved the boy. Therefore, nobody would ever find out that he was in fact Neville's father. The boy should not know, no, least of all him. He'd probably been shocked out of his already poorly functioning mind if he'd found out that the scary Potions Master was in fact his father. No need to torment his son any more than he already had. What mattered now was that Nicholas would live.

He hardly could fix the things anymore. Neville -- or Nicholas, whatever -- would be better with insane parents in a hospital than with a father he was afraid of. Severus knew personally how horrible it was to be afraid of one's own parent, and he certainly did not wish that fate on his son. There was no way he could make Nicholas trust himself, either -- he'd probably already pushed too far, the boy could never forgive him for all the things he'd said and done. But now that he knew, he could at least observe his son's life from distance, proud or disappointed -- although he knew already that he would not be disappointed. His son could never disappoint him, the mere fact that he was alive was quite enough to him to make him proud of him forever. For a long time, he hadn't expected Nicholas to even breathe -- how anything he did now, good or bad, could be anything but a reason to Severus to pride himself on, albeit secretly?

Yes, Severus Snape did have human feelings, though it was something he'd never shown to most of people. He was in fact capable of feeling things like love, friendship, or parental pride. It was that he very rarely got occasions where he could show those without fearing either being ridiculed or his cover being blown. Never since the First War's end, to be exact, and rarely between losing Nicholas's and that.

He had had friends back then. Frank and Alice, for two. He'd never been close to Lily Evans, later Potter, but through Celine he'd got to know the redhead too, although he'd never got along with James. He still couldn't understand how Lily had ever married that brat, who had no respect to anything. And, oh yes, Lupin. Lupin had been his friend once -- or at least an ally. Their companionship had been the very reason why James Potter had found Lupin untrustable and had made Pettigrew his Secret Keeper instead. Such a fool he'd been, Potter. Anyway, Lupin had been the last one of his friends he'd pulled away from. Without Celine, he'd had no real ties to Lily, although the witch had tried to contact him not a few times. And as for the Longbottoms, well -- they'd had Neville, while he had lost Nicholas. He'd been envious of their happiness, and in the end, he hadn't been able to bear it anymore. He'd abandoned the Longbottoms to avoid being hurt any more. Only Lupin had remained on his side.

But then Pettigrew had betrayed the Potters. Lupin had withdrawn to himself, and Severus had been put into Azkaban, suspected of being on the Dark Lord's side. Later, they'd just lost touch. And two years back, when Lupin had been teaching DADA, Severus had finally spoilt any chances he might have had of being friends with the werewolf again.

And now even Albus, the last person he'd let near to himself, had betrayed him, betrayed him worse than anybody ever had. He could not forgive the Headmaster, not ever. It was simply too much.

So, he seemingly would show no more human feelings to anybody in his life. All the better that he could at least be secretly proud of Nicholas's achievements, even if the boy could never know of it.

With this in mind, he set to work.

* * *

Next chapter: 

Severus brews the potion, and poor Neville/Nicholas has a nightmare.


	4. 3 Heal Him

Disclaimer: I own very little.

A/N: Thank you for all your encouraging reviews, and my apologies for not updating sooner.

Oh, and this will eventually be Remus/Severus. The slash won't be here for at least ten more chapters, though, if even then. So, don't hold your breath!

* * *

My Son One and Only 

Chapter 3

Heal Him

* * *

Three powdered rattlesnake fangs were mixed with a handful of carefully sliced aloe leaves. After the addition of three drops of unicorn water, the potion turned into a particular hue of light blue. Automatically stirring the potion three times clockwise, Severus then let his hands take care of the work, his mind somewhere entirely else. To be exact, fixed on the boy the potion was meant for. 

Nicholas... or Neville. Whatever his name was, the boy was still his son. Of course, he might never know it himself, but he still was Severus's son, his flesh and blood. And he would be damned if he let his son die again since this time, it really would be his fault, and nobody else's.

Neville would still need a lot of time to recover, but with the potion, he indeed would do that. It would take a long time enough that it would look like natural recovery instead of him somehow having got the cure that nobody was supposed to be able to successfully brew for him. Severus, of course, would have to admit that he had been wrong, but that was nothing compared with having to let his son die. And, most importantly, nobody would ever know. Nobody but he and Albus.

Severus knew that he would never tell anybody, least of all the boy himself. Nobody would have believed him even if he had told them, and as for Neville, well, he had already made the boy's life a living hell. There was no reason to make it even worse by blowing away everything he had ever believed in. Nothing could force Severus to tell him well, except for the change of eye colour. But then again, he wouldn't have to deal with that until the boy turned seventeen, and even then, the chances of it being connected to him were rather slim. After all, who could have thought that Neville might actually be a Snape?

But even if he couldn't tell the truth, he also knew that he wouldn't be able to be as nasty to Neville as before. Whereas he'd earlier seen Nicholas on Neville's face and wanted to punish his student for simply being alive, as well as to get rid of the pain he still felt for losing his son, he now would know that he was truly seeing Nicholas. And there wasn't any might in the world that could make him able to purposefully hurt his precious son. No, he wouldn't be cruel to Neville Longbottom ever again.

Of course, that wouldn't stop him from being cruel to Potter, and from taking out his rage and pain for not being able to have his son and tell everybody that Neville was _his_ and that he was proud of him. No, his behaviour towards that particular brat would certainly not change.

There would still be the Voldemort factor to consider, of course. Even that would alone force him to torment Potter again, and he would at least have to treat Neville like he treated all Gryffindors cruelly and unfairly. But not even Voldemort could take away his caring and pride for the boy. Everything he had ever felt for Nicholas was now directed at Neville, and that couldn't be changed.

Stir twice clockwise, stop for five seconds, and stir four times anticlockwise. It was fairly easy, at least to him. Briefly he wondered if Neville had inherited any of his skills in Potions. The boy's performance in class certainly didn't suggest that, but having seen the results of his Potions OWL, Severus had no doubt that most of it was just fear. That and the boy's tendency to hide his full abilities. If he just got rid of those, his general grades would certainly improve. Well, if he only got rid of his bad memory, too, though that was only thanks to the memory charms that prevented him from remembering the Longbottom's torture. The poor boy had been only a year old; without the memory charms, he'd surely been traumatized for life.

Adding a bit of Venderroot, Severus glanced at the potion. It was now just the sky blue colour it was supposed to be, and smelled faintly of vanilla. Soon it would be ready for Neville to drink it.

The thought made him shiver a bit. That meant that he would have to go to the Infirmary and face his son. The fact that Neville wouldn't be even conscious didn't make it any easier. And besides, as soon as he drank the potion, he would regain his consciousness. Whether or not he woke up would depend solely on Severus's luck. Well, if the boy did wake up and saw him next to his bed, he'd most probably think that it was just a dream. Or more likely a nightmare.

Well, that couldn't be helped. Instead, he had to go to cure the boy now. There was no time to waste.

...Then why was it so difficult to get his feet to work?

* * *

The corridors of Hogwarts were eerily quiet as Severus strode through them. It was past midnight already, and only ghosts moved in the castle at this time. Even the dead, however, moved out of Severus's way as they saw his expression. _Nobody_ in their right mind dared to cross an annoyed Severus Snape. 

However, in reality, Severus wasn't annoyed. In fact, he was just deep in thought. But as to that date only one person had been able to tell his annoyed frown from his thoughtful one, and that person had been dead for sixteen years, nobody still dared to face him.

As he came nearer to the Infirmary, however, his pace slowed down considerably. At last, he stopped in front of the door, thinking. Then, drawing a deep breath and hoping to Merlin that Poppy was asleep, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

His eyes soon caught the unconscious boy in the otherwise empty Infirmary, and he tensed. This was the first time he saw his son, really. Of course, he had seen his countless times, but this was the first time he was truly aware of it being Nicholas. And besides, the boy didn't really look like himself anymore. He was thinner due to his illness, and his hair had grown at least an inch. His face was pale, too.

Actually, Severus noticed with a startle, the boy looked a lot like him now. Having lost his overdue baby fat, Neville's features were now recognizable to anybody who knew what to look for. Of course, that only meant that Albus would see the truth; nobody else could even imagine that he was the boy's father.

As he stood there, watching, Neville started to mumble quietly. Of course, Severus was not surprised. Sure, the boy was supposed to be unconscious, but he knew better than well that the Internal Magic Plague caused hallucinations once it got far enough to make the victim lose consciousness. So, he merely sat down on the edge of the bed, waiting for the boy to stop so he could administer the potion.

After some time, however, instead of stopping the murmurs, Neville started to turn and toss around in the bed. As he didn't show any signs of calming down, Severus, against his better judgement, reached out a hand to grasp on his shoulder. He was startled by the immediate response to that. Neville snuggled up to him, clutching on his robes as if to be safe from something that kept agonizing him.

Severus's heart clenched in his chest. Just how many times had he imagined this? How many times had he imagined how, if Nicholas had been allowed to live, he'd have always been there for his son, giving him advice when needed, protecting from nightmares, loving him? And now, the only time he actually could care for his son the way he had always wanted to, the boy wasn't even aware of him being there or of him being his father. Oh, the irony of the world.

Then again, that wasn't anything new to him, as he was rather used to being the victim of the world's irony. He'd a long time ago noticed that if there indeed was some divine power looking over the world, it had a personal grudge against him. All this probably amused the bastard to no end.

At last, however, Neville had calmed down enough for him to administer the potion. Steadying the boy's body on his arm, he took the phial from his pocket, uncorking it. Then he raised it to the boy's lips, slowly pouring it into his mouth, at the same time massaging his throat to make him swallow.

At last, he had got the potion down Neville's throat. Putting the now empty phial into his pocket, he carefully lowered the boy onto the bed. The Gryffindor mumbled something in his sleep, but thankfully didn't wake up. Well, so maybe he did have at least some luck after all.

As he looked down at the boy, Severus simply couldn't resist the temptation, but did something he hadn't done in the last sixteen years. Leaning down, he placed a light kiss on his son's forehead, murmuring, "Good night, Nicholas." Then he hastily left the Infirmary, not looking back.

He could not look back.

* * *

Next chapter: **Wistful Thinking**

Albus wants Severus to tell Neville. Severus doesn't want to tell Neville. Neville wants somebody to tell him something.


	5. 4 Wistful Thinking

Disclaimer: I own very little.

A/N: Once again, my apologies for the slow update...

* * *

My Son One and Only 

Chapter 4

Wistful Thinking

* * *

The first thing Neville noticed upon waking up was that his head wasn't aching anymore. This was a true relief, and for a moment he just lay where he was, enjoying this comforting feeling. 

Then, however, he realized that he had no idea where he was. Glancing around, he recognized his surroundings as the Hogwarts Infirmary. Confused at this, he tried to remember...

And then, he remembered. It all hit him like a huge wave of memories, emotions, pictures. Diagon Alley, his Gran, and Death Eaters, and the Dark Mark and Aurors and...

Gran. Gran was dead.

For a moment, Neville felt sick, then empty. Then he sighed and let his head sink further back into the pillow, closing his eyes. A thousand thoughts crossed his mind. What would he do now? Where would he live? His Gran's house was the only home he knew, and Gran was his only close relative -- well, aside from his parents. However, he was only sixteen, and his parents hardly could care for him.

Sighing again, he then sat up. It would do no good to dwell in it. Rather, he needed to find out what was wrong with him -- or had been, considering that he now felt much more healthy.

Just then, Madam Pomfrey walked in. As she saw him sitting on his bed, she froze, her eyes wide. The next second, however, she seemed recovered enough to fuss, hurrying over to him and starting to examine him.

"How are you feeling, dear?" she asked while casting about a dozen different diagnosis charms on him. "Are you tired? Dizzy? Do you feel any pain?"

"I feel great," Neville replied, a bit confused. After all, he had only been knocked out, right? That hardly should cause such an amount of fussing. "I'm not tired or dizzy or anything. In fact, I feel better than I have in months. Well, physically anyway." Swallowing, he forced himself to ask, "Is -- is Gran really --"

"Dead? I'm afraid so." Madam Pomfrey sighed, but then immediately cheered up. "Now, don't think about it! You have to concentrate on recovering. You were in a really bad condition just a short time ago."

Recovering? But he felt fine. He didn't have any reason to recover. Knowing better than to disagree with her, though, he was quiet, silently enduring all her poking and prodding.

At some point, however, he would have some answers. For example, he wanted to know whether he had just dreamed somebody by the side of his bed.

But if he hadn't dreamed, who had it been?

* * *

"Fine, Minerva. So I was wrong for the first time in my life. Now, be happy that it means one of your dear Gryffindors survives and not the opposite," Severus snapped. "And, if it only is in any way possible, leave me alone. I'm not exactly on the mood for social interaction." 

"Are you ever?" asked the other Head of a House, raising an eyebrow, but indeed left. There was a spring in her step that had been lacking for quite some time, Severus noted. Were they all truly so delighted over the recovery of a single student?

Of course, he couldn't exactly claim to be unhappy about it, either. At least now he knew that Nicholas was alive and well, even if the boy wasn't his. The news of Neville's recovery had confirmed Albus' words -- it truly was Nicholas lying in the Hospital Wing.

As much as he was delighted about this, however, he was also slightly upset -- well, more than slightly. While the news indeed confirmed that his son was alive, it also confirmed that Albus had lied to him -- and ruined his life. How many quiet evenings of silent longing could he have avoided, how many sleepless nights would he have slept through? How many times would he have had only one grave to visit -- and somebody by his side to visit it with him?

He would never forgive this crime, he decided. No matter what, he wouldn't forgive Albus for taking his son away from him.

At least now he could watch his son, although he would have to stay away. To be honest, though, he wasn't sure whether this was better or worse than his former situation.

* * *

"You should tell him, you know." 

Severus did not even look up. "It is too late, Albus," he said, carefully keeping his voice as emotionless as possible. "He is Frank and Alice's now, not mine. His parents are two people lying in St. Mungo's, not a woman in grave and a bitter man in the dungeons. And that, Albus, is entirely your fault."

"That I cannot deny," sighed the Headmaster. "However, I would like to see you to fix things now. The boy is all alone, Severus. His grandmother is dead, and Frank and Alice are indeed in St. Mungo's. At the moment he has no family to speak of. You could offer him a family."

"I know all too well what it is like to grow up with a father you hate," Severus said bitterly. "I'd rather not give my own son the same experience."

"Then teach him not to hate you," the ancient wizard said. "Show him the good man you are beneath that harsh exterior of yours. Show him the real Severus."

"The real Severus died sixteen years ago," the Potions Master replied coldly. "I buried him next to Nicholas -- or, rather, next to Frank and Alice's child. It is better for all involved that he stays there."

"So you'll let your son be without a family?" Albus pressed on. "He needs you, Severus -- and he deserves to know the truth."

"The truth would ruin his life completely," replied Severus coolly. "You're wrong, Albus. The last thing he needs is me." His gaze hadn't wavered from the papers on his desk even once during the whole conversation. "If he deserves to know the truth, why did I not deserve the same thing? If he needs me, why didn't you let me keep him?" He glared at the Headmaster. "You have meddled with my life -- and my son's, too -- enough as it is, Albus. Now leave me be."

Now, he heard only silent footsteps. Soon even those disappeared. Sighing, Severus set his forehead down on his folded arms.

Why did everything have to be so difficult?

* * *

By now Neville had got confident enough to dare to actually ask questions. Thus, he dared to ask the one that bothered him most. 

"Madam Pomfrey?" he asked carefully. "Did anybody visit my room while I was unconscious?"

"Several people, dear," the mediwitch replied, smiling slightly. "Myself, mostly. However, Professor McGonagall has also been here often to see you. Professors Sprout and Snape have also been here to see your condition. Why do you ask?"

"Well..." Neville hesitated. Surely they'd think he was just silly, but still, he had to know. "Last night... Well, at least I think it was last night... somebody was here. I think. I mean, I could have just as well been dreaming, but I truly thought there was somebody here. It's really vague, but I think I remember having a nightmare... Then, suddenly, somebody was there. They held me... I felt safe." He flushed a bit at his silly confession. He was sixteen, after all; he shouldn't need to be held like a little child.

"I'm afraid it was just a dream," Madam Pomfrey said regretfully, petting his hair gently. "Nobody was here last night -- well, except for me. However, when I checked up on you, you were sleeping quite peacefully." She then glanced towards the door of the Infirmary. "I wonder where Professor Snape is. He was supposed to come here a while ago to bring some potions I need."

Neville froze. As irrational as it was, he couldn't help it. He'd spent a good part of the last five years being afraid of Professor Snape. It wasn't something you could just shake off.

Two pairs of eyes were locked at the door. One of them was expectant, the other fearful.

Then, the door was opened.

* * *

Severus didn't know what to think. The boy actually remembered his visit! Well, that meant he could make no more nightly visits to the infirmary. He couldn't risk anything. The truth would break the boy, and he couldn't let that happen. Neville would never know that his parents weren't heroes. 

He knew he'd been dallying too much, though. As he heard Poppy's words, he waited another second to gather his thoughts, then opened the door.

As he strode inside, his expression stern as ever, the gaze Neville gave him was nothing sort of fearful. Carefully he softened his expression not to be quite as intimidating as usually. "You asked for these, I believe," he said to Poppy, nodding towards the basket he held in his other hand. "Would you mind looking through them to see whether there's anything missing?" Of course there wasn't anything missing. He never forgot anything. However, it gave him another moment to be in the company of his son.

There was a quiet voice from the bed's direction, almost too quiet to be heard. However, Severus' ears caught it anyway. "Good evening, Professor Snape."

To say that he was surprised would have been a dire understatement. Raising an eyebrow, he turned to look at the boy, carefully keeping his expression emotionless but also making sure not to glare at him. "Ah, Mister Longbottom," he said with as neutral a voice as he only could manage. "I see you have again decided to grace us with your delightful presence."

"Let the boy be, Severus," Poppy said sharply. "He hasn't done anything to you."

Now Severus raised both eyebrows, turning towards the mediwitch again. "And I haven't done anything to him, have I?" he said. "I assure you, if it were my intention to make him uncomfortable, I would have made that clear. Now, is there anything missing, or do you no more require my presence?"

"No, everything is all right. Thank you, Severus."

He nodded, then said, "Have a good day, Poppy, Mister Longbottom." Then he turned around and swept away gracefully as ever.

Not until he was out of the hospital wing was he able to breathe easily again.

* * *

Next chapter: 

Neville recovers, which brings trouble. Severus may be forced to tell him after all.


End file.
